


Baking from Scratch

by dodecahedrons



Category: Free!
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Baking, FWP, Fluff without Plot, M/M, i havent finished free! yet or written free! fanfiction before so please have mercy on me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodecahedrons/pseuds/dodecahedrons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka Nanase, who is vaguely bummed out by the fact he can't swim in the winter, has other ways of curing his boredom during the cold month of December. But when Makoto, the one person Haru didn't want knowing about his secret affinity for baking, is added to the mix, things get a little more complicated than either anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking from Scratch

It was too cold to swim.

 

It was, yet again, that dreaded time of year. Winter. When pools were drained, the ocean was too cold, and YMCA memberships were too expensive to even consider if you were only planning on swimming. To a devout competitive swimmer, this was relatively devastating. What was there to do in the months between swim seasons?

 

Well, the answer that one specific swimmer came to was baking.

 

Haruka Nanase, the boy who got so excited by the sight of water in a confined space that he stripped to his swimming trunks in a Costco, had decided that it wasn't worth it to waste the cold months moping about not being able to swim. It's not like that was the only thing he enjoyed doing, after all.

 

No, when he wasn't showcasing his amphibious nature, he did enjoy spending his time in the kitchen. Whether he was cooking meals or baking, it was enjoyable all the same. He wouldn't really let anyone else know this, though. It's not that he was embarrassed, it's just that he felt it wasn't something he had to broadcast to everyone in the local area.

 

But, it was winter, and there was nothing to do besides bake, so he was left to the conclusion that baking was the best route.

 

Upon checking his cabinets, he came to the conclusion he had nothing that one could bake with. Unless you count half an ounce of baking soda and a packet of yeast a delicious pastry, that is.

 

So he grabbed his wallet and ducked out of his house, making his way to the corner market to hopefully just run in, grab some ingredients, and return home.

 

* * *

 

The baking aisle was much more expansive than he remembered.

 

He was standing, his back nearly flush against the spices behind him, his gaze shifting up and down the entire aisle full of baking equipment before him. Either this was a different store than he usually went to for his baking supplies, or he hadn't baked in a really, really long time.

 

It was probably the latter.

 

He didn't know where to begin. There were boxed mixes, but that felt like cheating. But he didn't look up what he needed to make a cake from scratch before he left, and his data plan wasn't exactly that great, so he couldn't buy ingredients to make a cake either.

 

Cakes were probably too complicated, anyway. Usually when he'd bake cakes, he'd get frustrated with icing and end up leaving half of the cake bare. If there was anything he hated more than winter, it was decorating anything bigger than cupcakes.

 

But on that note, his decorating skills could probably use some work. Was it worth it to spend money just to practice icing cakes, though? It's not like this was going to be his profession. It was just a hobby. Did it have to be great?

 

He spent the better part of ten minutes pacing up and down the aisle, staring pensively at the boxed mixes and decorations on shelves above. He could bake brownies, cookies, cakes, cupcakes... hell, he could make some jello or pudding if he wanted to. But that's the thing. He didn't know what he wanted to do.

 

While he was making another turn to pace back up the aisle, still staring at the excessive rainbow of Jell-O brand jello as it collided with boxes of pudding of the same type, he bumped into someone.

 

Not just any someone.

 

A certain Makoto Tachibana someone.

 

"Haru? What are you doing in the baking aisle?" he asked, a laugh on his voice. Haru didn't need to look up at him to know he was smiling.

 

"I'm doing my taxes," he responded, voice monotone but body language slightly uncomfortable. "What else would I be doing?"

 

This made Makoto laugh. Like, actually laugh. He laughed for a minute before looking down, noticing the vague discomfort in Haru's posture. "Hey, are you alright? I didn't scare you or anything did I?"

 

"No," he responded, returning his gaze to the baking goods beside him to hopefully change the topic. It took no less than thirty seconds of having his gaze fixated on a box of vanilla pudding mix for Makoto to return to his original question.

 

"So uh, baking aisle, eh? Are you gonna make something? Is there a special event coming up? Oooh.... is it for a special someone?" he grinned, walking toward the cake decorations and examining a set of sugar letters. "I've never thought of you as the type to bake."

 

"Well I do bake, so there's that," Haru responded, avoiding every other question, especially the one about a significant other. It was actually kinda odd... He didn't know why, but Makoto had been so adamant lately about seeing if he was with anyone. Literally anything he did was met with a question about a partner. Anything.

 

To get his mind off of the topic, which was one that was very confusing and subsequently beginning to pester him, he walked past Makoto to examine the boxed brownie mixes closer than he had before. Maybe he'd make brownies. "Hey, Makoto, do you ice brownies?"

 

Makoto blinked and pulled his attention from the ingredients listing on the same pack of sugar letters he'd been looking at beforehand. "Hm? I think you can, but it's not really necessary. Why? Ooh! Are you making brownies?"

 

"Maybe," he responded, crouching down to examine the cookie mixes as well. It was then that Haru, for some reason, began to ponder the existence of cookie mixes in powder form. He didn't know exactly why there were dry cookie mixes and cookie dough tubes. What was the point? He could make cookies faster by just buying the tubes of dough in the refrigerated aisle. He actually considered doing that. It'd be faster and he wouldn't have to exert any effort. For some reason, he felt less like baking ever since he walked into the store.

 

Continuing to ponder, Haru began to wonder if there were other types of cookie dough in tube form. On the topic of other flavors, he could really go for some sugar cookies. Was it a holiday season that those themed frozen sugar cookies were sold for? Last he checked, it was December. Maybe the frozen Santa cookies were on sale.

 

It was due to his excessive internal monologue on cookie dough variants, however, that he failed to notice Makoto picking up brownie mixes. His attention was only brought back to the reality of the store and, subsequently, Makoto's presence in the baking aisle when the aforementioned tapped him on the shoulder and mentioned something about heading to check out. He asked if he was coming, too, to which Haru only replied with a confused and slightly dazed, "Why would I be coming?"

 

Makoto froze in his tracks, which were apparently leading him to the checkout counters, and turned to Haru. "I'm buying brownie mix for us to make!" The smile was still in his voice and on his lips

 

Haru blinked. "I was thinking about making cookies though."

 

"We can make brownies _mixed_ with cookies," Makoto suggested, that god damn smile everlasting.

 

"That sounds like more effort than I feel like putting out," he deadpanned, staring Makoto down.

 

"I can do most of the work, if you want!" he immediately responded, leaving Haru to just continue staring him down. Why was he suddenly so adamant about making these fucking brownies? He almost wanted to say no, but they seemed so god damn important to him. He sighed, glancing between Makoto and the cookie mixes as he spoke.

 

"Fine. How do we do this mixed thing?"

 

Makoto smiled so wide his eyes pretty much closed. Haru gave a soft but barely noticeable smile. Makoto was way too excited about this.

 

* * *

 

It took a little bit of Googling on Makoto’s behalf (due to Haru’s aforementioned horrible data plan), and a lot of confusion between the two in what exactly the final plans for their baking project were, but they finally managed to get what they needed and check out. Walking home was a bit of an adventure, because their bags broke not once, not twice, but three times. After the third time, Haru got vaguely frustrated and decided to carry everything in his arms.

 

Even the milk.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry anything?” Makoto asked, glancing over Haru, observing how he carried the small mountain of baking supplies so easily.

 

“I’m fine,” he responded, keeping his eyes ahead and posture rigid. He made carrying twenty five pounds of raw baking supplies look easy.

 

Yes. Raw. Makoto had insisted that they make everything from scratch, not from boxes. And he actually had a way of looking up supplies, so Haru had no way to make an excuse to not do that. Not without sounding lazy, anyway.

 

Makoto had said that introducing cookies into the brownie mixture might be easier done if everything was made by hand and not from pre-made mixtures. He couldn’t tell if Makoto genuinely believed this or if he was pushing some sort of agenda against easy baking. It didn’t matter, he guessed. It may be more work, but Makoto was there to at least half the effort Haru had to put out.

 

for a minute, Haru continuing to internally process the situation whilst Makoto continued to glance between Haru and what was ahead of them.

 

They walked like this for a while.

 

They reached Haru’s house once again without another word exchanged between them. No words were exchanged, that is, before Makoto asked Haru if the door was unlocked. That was an odd question, actually, because Haru never really locked his doors. He didn’t have anything valuable enough that he couldn’t take with him that anyone’ want to steal.

 

Makoto was acting very odd today, Haru noticed.

 

So much so, it was actually beginning to concern him.

 

“Makoto, are you alright?” he asked, ignoring the other’s question as he began to work one of his arms out from underneath the pile of supplies he was holding to get the door open. Makoto reached out immediately to get the door, opening it in one swift motion and crossing the threshold as he responded.

 

“Yeah! Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“Just asking,” Haru replied quietly, following Makoto through his own house and into the kitchen. He put the pile of supplies on the table, sighing softly in relief. He wasn’t doing that again, at least not for a long while. “That was a lot more exhausting than I thought it would be.”

 

“I offered to carry some of that,” the brunette hummed, pulling his phone out to get the recipe they’d been looking at in the store. Haru only half registered the comment. He was too busy organizing the supplies on the table so they didn’t just look thrown.

 

“So wait, Makoto,” Haru absentmindedly began, fixing bottles and boxes to line up certain ways as he spoke, “Why did you want to bake so bad?” He didn’t exactly _mean_ to ask it, but due to his mind being otherwise occupied, he was only half there, and for some reason was vaguely thinking out loud.

 

The question that wasn’t meant to be asked hung in the air for much longer than it should have on a normal day, but nothing about this day felt normal anymore. Haru, again, didn’t exactly notice this long silence, because he was now occupied with tearing himself away from organizing the supplies to get mixing bowls to set up on the table, but Makoto seemed a little bit stiffer than he had a moment ago. Haru didn’t exactly notice Makoto’s stiffness, per se, but it was the sudden rigidity in the general feeling of the room that snapped Haru to full consciousness.

 

It was then Makoto realized he wasn’t responding, because as soon as Haru looked at him with a vague concerned look on his face, he glanced up from his phone and quickly responded with a rather fast “I don’t know, I just was really in the mood for it.”

 

Haru stared for a moment, but shrugged as he set stack of bowls on the table. “Alright,” he responded. “Hey, what measuring things do we need for this?” Makoto glanced down at his phone again, scrolling back up until he found the measurements.

 

“Uh, a tablespoon and a measuring cup for dry stuff,” he responded, setting his phone down and beginning to open some drawers, looking for exactly those things.

 

To no avail.

 

“Uh, Haru? I think we need go to the store again.”

 

* * *

 

After making sure they had _everything_ they needed, and purchasing anything they didn’t have readily available at Haru’s house, they began prepping everything. The recipe Makoto’d found seemed easy enough. Haru worked on the brownie batter whilst Makoto worked on the cookie dough.

 

“I’m eating the leftovers of the dough, just so you know,” Haru said in a very matter-of-fact tone. Makoto opened his mouth to begin a small protest, but quickly shut it. He knew there was no point. Haru was silent, but he was also very opinionated. Haru noticed this almost-protest, and was going to comment on it, but the ding of the oven saying it was pre-heated derailed his train of thought.

 

“I don’t remember setting that,” he blinked, glancing slightly over at Makoto. “Did you set that when we came home or something?”

 

He was answered with nothing besides a slight nod of his head. Makoto somehow went from almost debating with Haru, to being so invested in mixing the cookie dough that he couldn’t even bother to say one syllable. It’s not like Haru was complaining. This was the most normal he’d seemed all day.

 

He needed to stop observing Makoto’s behavior and just focus on the baking, probably.

 

After a few minutes, Makoto finished mixing the dough. He took the two bowls and went over to their baking pan, spreading the two mixtures as instructed by the recipe on his phone. Haru only vaguely watched, too busy with cleaning up the small mess they’d made of his table and putting away excess supplies they hadn’t used.

 

“I’m done with the bowls,” Makoto commented after a minute or two, pushing the bowl the cookie dough had been in to the side and placing the brownie mix’s bowl in the sink, filling it with water to let it soak. Haru finished wiping off the table and immediately jogged across the kitchen to snatch the cookie bowl.

 

“How long until the brownies are done?” he inquired, already starting to gather dough on his finger. Makoto watched his finger move in the bowl for a moment before grabbing his phone again, scrolling through the article to check the time.

 

“Uh, 38 minutes, approximately anyway,” he responded. Haru nodded.

 

“Let’s go watch something while we wait,” he instructed, turning and walking toward his living room, cookie bowl still in his arms.

 

* * *

 

Seated on Haru’s small, beat-up loveseat of a sofa, Makoto was looking through Netflix for anything ridiculous enough to watch that they hadn’t watched already. That was their hobby, making fun of bad movies on Netflix. Haru had said they didn’t have time for that, but Makoto had insisted that he could find something bad with _episodes_ rather than an hour and a half of footage straight through.

 

He couldn’t, though, so they ended up watching My Strange Addiction.

 

About halfway through the episode, Haru had finished cleaning the bowl of cookie dough, and had since moved to sprawling out across the couch, his legs crossing over Makoto’s lap to reach the other end. Makoto was sitting almost stiff as a board, eyes almost forcibly focused on the TV. Haru didn’t notice, however, because he was too intrigued by the man obsessed with being married to a doll to even care to focus on anything else.

 

It wasn’t until he stopped to ask Makoto to go see how much time was left on the brownies did he notice Makoto’s rather uncomfortable air about him.

 

“You’re not okay,” Haru stated. There was no inquisitiveness in his voice. He knew something was up. And he wasn’t letting it slide by this time.

 

Makoto tensed up, as if he was visibly swearing. Haru frowned, throwing his legs off of him and sitting up.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

No response.

 

“Makoto, seriously. What’s wrong?”

 

Silence.

 

He put his hand on Makoto’s shoulder. Makoto flinched.

 

“Makoto Tachibana, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine, Haru.”

 

His voice cracked.

 

“You’re not.”

 

“I am”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“God dammit Haru, what do I have to do to prove to you I’m fine?”

 

“Nothing. You’re not fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

There was another silence. A long one.

 

Makoto took a breath.

 

“Haru, I…”

 

He glanced at the ceiling before closing his eyes. He stayed like that for a long time, before moving his head down, running a hand through his own hair. He sighed.

 

“Haru, do you have anyone you’re seeing?”

 

God _dammit_ , it was _that_ question again.

 

Haru threw his head back and groaned in slight frustration and annoyance. “Why do you keep asking that?”

 

“Just answer the question. Please.”

 

Makoto was nervous. He was shaking. Not very noticeably. Haru wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t glanced at his hands.

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re not seeing anyone?”

 

“No.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Makoto opened his eyes and stared ahead, staring at the TV screen but not exactly watching what was going on in the show. Haru had long since lost interest, still worried about Makoto, watching him nervously..

 

The silence lasted only a minute before Makoto turned to sit facing Haru.

 

Haru continued to stare at him, eyes showing blatant concern.

 

“Haru,” he sighed, voice wavering slightly.

 

“Makoto,” Haru responded, voice calm.

 

He’d never seen Makoto so nervous. This wasn’t like him.

 

Makoto took another breath. A very, very shaky one.

 

“Haru, I think I might love you.”

 

The room fell silent again, save for Makoto’s vague, incessant, nervous leg shaking causing his pants to rub against the couch. The sound was bothering Haru, but he had other things to process at the moment besides fabric rubbing on fabric.

 

Makoto said he might love him.

 

Haru closed his eyes for a moment. For a long, long moment. He didn’t know how to respond. Did he love Makoto? Was he ready to date his best friend? God, he should have expected this. No one’s this nervous around someone unless they have a thing for them.

 

After a long moment of thought, Haru leaned back a bit before lunging himself slightly forward. Makoto jumped back a bit, breath hitching, suddenly vaguely afraid. “H-Haru?”

 

Haru scooted forward a little bit, glancing up at Makoto. He was redder than anything he’d seen before, which was pretty impressive. He looked so nervous. So confused. So concerned.

 

Haru cupped his cheeks in his hands.

 

Makoto made some unidentifiable noise, barely managing to squeak Haru’s name out before he leaned in and kissed him.

 

They stayed like that for a minute, just sort of kissing, before an alarm started screeching and the living room, and subsequently the entire house, started to smell like smoke.

 

“Fuck, I think we forgot about the brownies,” Haru mumbled nonchalantly, pretending as if he hadn’t just smooched his best friend. After a moment of staring at each other, they both jumped to their feet and ran into the kitchen, hoping that taking the brownies out of the oven and putting every fan in the house in the kitchen would dissipate the smoke and hopefully bring an end to the assault on their ears.

 

And Haru noticed, while they were gathering fans from every room and closet in the house, that Makoto was much less rigid than he’d been all day. He was happy. He was smiling.

 

Haru was relieved.

 

It may have been too cold to swim, and the brownies may have turned out a just little more well done than either of them had expected, but in the end, Haru decided the day wasn’t a horrible one after all.

  
Even though it was cold as hell, everything sure did feel pretty warm to him in that moment.


End file.
